When Mae’s dad gives her a beautifully wrapped Christmas gift, he tells her not to open it until morning. She never expects her scheming stepmother, Veda, to tear it open first. But Veda’s greed sets off a chain of events full of surprises, lessons, and a little Christmas karma…
Christmas used to be my favorite time of year. The sparkling lights, the smell of gingerbread cookies, the pine-scented tree, and stockings stuffed with small treats—it all felt magical.
This year, the magic felt like it had vanished.
My dad remarried a few months ago. His new wife, Veda, had a way of making me feel like I didn’t belong in my own home. She wasn’t cruel in a storybook sense, but she had a talent for tearing down your confidence while smiling sweetly.
“Oh, Mae, that’s your outfit? Maybe rethink it,” she would say, or, “Your dad spoils you too much. It won’t last forever.”
Every word dripped with fake sweetness that made my stomach twist.
For Dad’s sake, I stayed quiet. He looked happy, and I didn’t want to ruin that. Mom had passed away ten years ago, when I was seven. I convinced myself that enduring Veda’s comments was worth keeping Dad’s joy intact.
A week before Christmas, everything changed.
One evening, Dad pulled me aside. He held a gold-wrapped box with a red velvet bow. “Mae,” he said, his expression serious but playful at the same time, “this year, I have something really special for you.”
The box looked straight out of a holiday movie. I wanted to tear it open immediately.
“What is it?” I asked, unable to hide my excitement.
“It’s a surprise,” he said, “but I need you to promise me something first.”
“Okay… what?”
“Don’t open it until Christmas morning,” he instructed, handing it to me carefully.
“Leave it under the tree,” he added, “and think of me when you see it. I’ll be out of town for work, but I’ll call you first thing that morning. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
I nodded eagerly. “I promise, I’ll wait.”
“Good girl,” he said. “This is important to me.” His gaze lingered for a moment, almost sad or conflicted, before he kissed my forehead, told me he loved me, and went upstairs to pack.
The next morning, Christmas Eve, Dad left for his trip. I woke up early on Christmas Day, bubbling with excitement. Then it hit me—he wouldn’t be home. Breakfast would be just Veda and me.
I crept downstairs, trying not to make a sound. Veda was already at the kitchen table, scraping her spoon loudly against her bowl.
And then I saw her. Veda was kneeling in front of the tree, holding my gift—the very one Dad had told me not to open.
“Morning, Mae,” she said, her voice bright but cold. “Merry Christmas.”
“What are you doing? Veda? That’s mine!” My throat tightened.
She turned to face me, holding the box as if it belonged to her. “Come on, Mae. Your dad spoils you all the time. Let’s see if he finally got something useful—for me, of course. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Veda, no! Dad said not to open it until Christmas morning! It’s special!” I protested.
“Oh, please,” she waved dismissively. “You don’t deserve half the things he gives you. You act so perfect when he’s around, but you’re really just spoiled.”
Her words hit me like a punch. My heart raced as she tugged at the bow.
“Veda! Stop! Please!” I yelled, my voice trembling.
She rolled her eyes and tore the gold wrapping with abandon. The crinkle of paper echoed in the silent living room. She yanked off the lid—and froze.
Her smug smile vanished into shock.
Inside was a black velvet ring box and a folded envelope. Her name was written on it, unmistakably in Dad’s handwriting. Her hands shook as she opened the envelope.
“Veda,” she read aloud, voice wavering, “‘If you’re reading this, it means you’ve done exactly what I feared. I overheard your conversation with your sister last week about taking Mae’s gift. I gave you a chance to prove me wrong. You didn’t.’”
She looked ghostly pale.
“Is that it?” I asked, though my voice was tight.
She nodded silently, still staring at the letter.
“You’ve disrespected my daughter and crossed the line. Consider this my official goodbye. Merry Christmas.”
She dropped the letter as if it burned her. With shaking hands, she opened the velvet box. Inside lay her engagement ring—the same ring Dad had used to propose. But it had belonged to my grandmother, a treasure I had always admired.
The room was silent. I felt a strange, quiet satisfaction.
Then, the front door opened. Veda spun around.
“Greg?”
“Dad!”
He stood calmly, duffel bag in hand, as if he had known exactly what would happen. “I stayed close,” he said. “I needed to see for myself. I knew you were trying to make Mae feel small, Veda. I gave you a chance, and you proved me wrong.”
Veda tried to speak, but Dad’s voice cut through, firm and steady. “I trusted you to be a partner, to be a stepmother to Mae. Instead, you showed greed and cruelty. This was the final test.”
Her face crumpled. Dad turned away. “Pack your things. You’re leaving today.”
She muttered complaints as she left, dragging her suitcase, storming out with all the arrogance gone.
The house was quiet again. For the first time in months, it felt peaceful.
Dad and I spent the rest of Christmas together. Pancakes piled high, crispy bacon, hot chocolate, old Christmas movies, and laughter about the times I had peeked at presents as a child.
Later, he handed me another gold-wrapped box. Inside was the ring and a note, addressed to me. “Mae, you’re the best thing in my life. I hope this Christmas marks a new beginning for both of us. I love you.”
I smiled, tears welling. “I’m sorry, Dad,” I whispered.
“For what?”
“For everything with Veda. I just wanted you to be happy.”
“I am happy, darling. And this ring is yours. One day, someone worthy will slide it onto your finger. Veda wasn’t that for me.”